


A Servant's Satisfaction

by round_robin



Series: Geralt Does Toussaint [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barnabas-Basil Fucks, Bathing/Washing, Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Come Inflation, Come Marking, Corvo Bianco (The Witcher), Creampie, Explicit Consent, F/M, M/M, Master/Servant, Mild Kink, Minor Canonical Character(s), Multi, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Pegging, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Post-The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Praise Kink, Service Kink, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Voyeurism, Wolf Pack, slutty geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27347293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: Barnabas-Basil was unconcerned by a Witcher taking charge of Corvo Bianco. He'd seen many masters come and go, all of them bringing their own unique experiences and taste to the property, a Witcher would be no different. He dearly hoped the man left everything to him. But that was a best case scenario. He started making a list of suggested renovations while also keeping his expectations low. If the Witcher arrived covered in blood, dragging a corpse behind him... well, that was the worst case scenario.The man who showed up was... well, he was quite handsome.
Relationships: Barnabas-Basil Foulty/Eskel, Barnabas-Basil Foulty/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Barnabas-Basil Foulty/Lambert, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Other(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Geralt Does Toussaint [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010184
Comments: 85
Kudos: 255





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After finishing the upgrades to Corvo Bianco, the cut scene with Barnabas-Basil sharing the wine with Geralt got me thinking, "they should fuck." Because I want Geralt to fuck everyone in Blood and Wine, apparently.
> 
> This is mostly B.B/Geralt, but the other ships are tagged because, well, Geralt is very much a slut in this. He has this fancy new house, of course everyone he's ever met will get a tour... and a good solid fuck. If you're here for the other ships, they are minor and I do apologize, this is mostly B.B/Geralt. Also, please read the tags just in case.
> 
> While usually I'd tag for dub-con based on the power imbalance alone, in the game it's really clear how deferential Geralt is to Barnabas-Basil's expertise. He doesn't see himself as the master of the house, merely the sucker lucky enough to own it at the moment. I don't think they'd have the kind of tension that power imbalance would bring.
> 
> That being said, please enjoy this rarest of rare pairs. I seem to get myself into a lot of those recently. Also, please excuse the abuse of italics and ellipses, B.B is a very specific man to write and it just felt right. And this is far longer than I planned, but *shrug*

Barnabas-Basil was unconcerned by a Witcher taking charge of Corvo Bianco. He'd seen many masters come and go, all of them bringing their own unique experiences and taste to the property, a Witcher would be no different. He dearly hoped the man—man? mutant? mutant sounded crude and offensive, and from what he'd heard of Geralt's adventures, he seemed a truly fine _man_ —left everything to him. But that was a best case scenario.

Witchers fought with swords and other weapons, so he'd probably have collection pieces to display like the knights Barnabas-Basil had worked for in the past. He started making a list of suggested renovations while also keeping his expectations low. If the Witcher arrived covered in blood, dragging a corpse behind him... well, that was the worst case scenario.

The man who showed up was... well, he was quite handsome. Armor a little dirty from a day of hard riding, but clearly well cared for. He listened attentively as Barnabas-Basil showed him around the property, and asked questions about the history. He listened to Barnabas-Basil's suggestions, but clearly had his own preferences. They started with the stables, he wanted a warm place for his horse, not just for himself, the sign of a decent man. Once his mare was living in her new, comfortable stable, they saw to the house, refurbishing as Barnabas-Basil suggested.

Geralt disappeared, for days at a time, but he always returned, a small smile on his face. He clearly took pride in his home, which made Barnabas-Basil warm to him. “Never owned a house before,” he said with a shrug. “Feels like it deserves a little care.”

“I couldn't agree more, sir.”

By the time they had the house's facade refurbished, a few armor stands placed about to display his collection, Barnabas-Basil began cautiously suggesting new improvements. “The guest room, sir, could use a little attention.”

Geralt smiled that small little smile, ducking his chin to almost hide it. It was a shame, he had such a lovely face. “Sure, why not? Don't know if I'd ever have anyone to stay, though.”

“That is not important, sir, all great estates require a good guest room. You never know who might drop by, and you want them to be comfortable.”

Geralt chuckled softly. “ _Great_ estate? Is that what we're building? Not just a nest for a filthy Witcher?”

Barnabas-Basil bristled at the words. “If I may say, sir, you are a fine guardian of this estate. You treat her well, and any one who speaks against you is sorely mistaken.”

“You're the guardian, B.B, I just live here. Make the guest room as nice as you like.”

Barnabas-Basil did indeed make the room nice, but not by his preferences, he ordered furnishings and linens that matched the character of the house. Geralt glanced at it and nodded. “This looks good. Great job as always, B.B.”

He found Geralt to be a fair man, an intelligent master and a fine fellow all around. Some nights, when Barnabas-Basil was alone in the house, tending to small repair needs or cleaning, he started to think Geralt might be the finest master Corvo Bianco had ever had. What little time he spent there (which was also growing, as his business with the Duchess kept him south longer than he first planned) he seemed to truly enjoy the estate, planting helpful herbs in the garden, taking care of his swords and armor with a loving hand, spoiling his dear horse with all the tasty oats Barnabas-Basil could find. The Witcher was truly starting to look at home here, like he belonged.

Though, Barnabas-Basil found one fault in him: modesty. While modesty was considered a great virtue, modesty to the point of absurdity was tiresome. At first, it was flattering, deflecting compliments, “I didn't do anything, you made the place shine, B.B...” and giving credit to others who wouldn't usually receive it from a noble master, “That stable hand you hired, what's his name? I like the way he sings to Roach.”

But sometimes, Geralt's modesty tipped over into the ridiculous. The storage barn in the south end of the property needed repairs, Geralt spotted the men struggling and though he was tired, returning from a contract, he stripped his armor and assisted. They finished the repairs in record time, Barnabas-Basil had their timeline firmly set for a day and a half later, and now they were fully finished. Amazing.

“Thank you fer your help, sir,” the foreman said before the crew headed off.

Geralt waved the words away. “Barely lifted a finger. You had most of it done when I arrived.”

“If I may say, sir, you are wrong about that,” Barnabas-Basil cut in. “I've watched them struggle with that load for an hour. I was about to send down to the village for a few men to assist when you arrived home.”

Geralt shrugged, gathering his armor and his bags from the ground. Chest glistening with the sweat of exertion, Barnabas-Basil tried not to stare. “It was nothing. I'm used to repairs. Kaer Morhen—my home in the north—is falling apart, always has been.” He started up the gravel path before stopping, that small smile back on his lips. “Huh.”

“Is there a problem, sir?” Barnabas-Basil took a step back, trying not to crowd his master. Oh, the urge to lean against him was great, Barnabas-Basil hadn't had a partner in... a very long time. It was inappropriate, of course, he should stop such thoughts. But Geralt had yet to put his shirt back on. He stood in the middle of the path, his chest gleaming in the setting sun, hair almost gold in the light, eyes reflecting, almost magical.

“No. I just realized: I've never thought of anywhere other than Kaer Morhen as my home. But this... I like it here. It _feels_ like home.”

“I am happy to hear that, sir. Should I draw you a bath? You must be tired after your labors.”

“Nah, I can take care of it. Have a good night, B.B.” With that, he headed up to the house, leaving Barnabas-Basil to watch his long, deliciously muscled back as he went.

When Barnabas-Basil returned to his small cottage, he stripped his shirt and went right for the wash bowl. Yes, cold water, he was hot from monitoring the workers in the bright sun, a little splash would help... He splashed the water across his chest and rubbed a wet cloth over the back of his neck, before wiping at his face. The tense heat under his skin abated some, but low between his legs... “Goodness,” he whispered to himself. “You can't... he's the master of the house. Such weakness has ended the careers of majordomos all across the duchy. You are better than this.”

After that quick word with himself, Barnabas-Basil felt better, though there was still a low throb between his legs. He finished washing and got changed into his night shirt, taking care of his dinner and a few small tasks—mending, minor repair work on a frame that fell from its hook, the painting undamaged—before settling into bed. He closed his eyes and tried to drift off. It usually wasn't difficult after a full day, the satisfaction of his work exhausting in the best way.

But tonight, when he closed his eyes, Barnabas-Basil dreamed of golden eyes and white locks, and another sort of satisfaction all together.

* * *

The guest room was another source of Geralt's baffling modesty. “Don't know if I'd ever have anyone to stay,” turned out to be a complete falsehood almost instantly. Less than a week after the final touches were put on the guest bedroom, rumors of another Witcher in the area started to circulate, and one morning, Barnabas-Basil walked towards the house to find Geralt arm in arm with another man.

They embraced at first, the tight bear hug of two men who'd known each other so long, they could read one another's thoughts with a glance. The new man pulled back and Barnabas-Basil caught a glimpse of similar golden eyes—so beautiful and enchanting—before Geralt pulled him into a bruising kiss, quickly dragging him inside and shutting the door.

Barnabas-Basil almost dropped the basket of eggs he was carrying. _Almost_. He'd heard rumors, of course, of what Witchers got up to with one another. “Who else would want a freak 'cept another freak?” he'd heard on the crude northern tongues in the past when he'd had to journey far away for supplies or gather skilled workers for a specific project. He tried not to listen, idle court gossip didn't interest him, why should this? But still, he knew how Witchers were seen by most humans, and it seemed they did draw comfort in the arms of their brethren...

He had been headed towards the house to stock the larder, but went to attend to some other duties. Give Geralt and his guest some privacy...

A few hours later, he went back to the house. Everything seemed in order, and there was a distinct lack of... indecent noises. He closed the door behind him and turned towards the kitchen, ready to continue his duties. As he stocked the pantry and cold storage, making mental notes of what needed doing, Barnabas-Basil was so engrossed in his duties that he did not hear the light tread of the master of the house. “Hey, B.B.”

For the second time that day, he almost dropped an egg, but managed to save it. Securing the rest of the items, he stood up and gave a little bow, eyes going wide behind his spectacles. Geralt stood in front of him, chest gloriously bare along with his feet, legs clad in... velvet?

Following his eyes down (and clearly missing the inappropriate thoughts written across Barnabas-Basil's face) Geralt extended one leg. “They're nice, right? Eskel brought them. He had a contract a few vineyards over, found Michelle Boulivar's seamstress alive and well, kidnapped by a cave troll. Madame Boulivar added some good cloth on top of his payment, and—” he turned over his shoulder, yelling back into the house, “—Eskel, what did you call these?”

“Relaxation trousers,” a deep voice rumbled. A similarly dressed, similarly gorgeous Witcher, walked out of the master bedroom, his dark hair sticking up a little, mussed from pillows, and his lips gloriously kiss swollen. His broad chest was somehow wider than Geralt's and Barnabas-Basil tried to drop his eyes. It was rude to stare... But when he came to a stop, almost touching Geralt but not quite, they made quite the pair, a feast for the eyes. Barnabas-Basil couldn't resist a good, long look.

The other Witcher—Eskel—dragged a hand through his hair to smooth it out a little, thumb brushing self-consciously at the tangle of scars covering the side of his face. “She said they're going to be all the rage. Not for work around the house, or going outside, but for reading and laying in bed.” He shrugged. “Don't suppose you need warm sleep clothes here.”

“They seem like a good idea,” Barnabas-Basil said quickly. “There have been times when, after tending the garden, you spend the rest of the day in your muddy trousers, sir. An alternative for your comfort is good.” A white eyebrow arched and Barnabas-Basil felt his cheeks heat up. “Ah, my apologies, sir, I didn't mean to imply you weren't free to use your own home as you see fit.”

Geralt waved a hand then walked to the pantry. “Forget about it, B.B, I was just messing with you. They're comfortable trousers, I will say that.” His brow furrowed as he looked into the pantry, then cast his eyes around the rest of the kitchen. “B.B, I hate to ask so much from you...”

“Not at all, sir, what do you need?” Eskel was still standing in the door, chest bare, eyes following Geralt with that same small smile at the edge of his lips. Barnabas-Basil had to admit, he was glad his employer had a relationship—maybe even love?

“Could you put some food together for us? Late lunch, early dinner, doesn't matter what. I forgot Marlene was out until tomorrow, she wanted to visit her family's mausoleum.” Ah, yes, dear Marlene. Barnabas-Basil had grown fond of the elderly woman Geralt placed in his care, and she was a gifted cook. He knew she was out, of course, and should've made arrangements for dinner sooner. An oversight on his part.

“Of course, sir, it will be my pleasure.”

“Seriously?” Eskel joked, kicking out a foot to nudge Geralt's ankle. “You forget how to cook for yourself after only a few months of this lovely house?”

Geralt struck out an arm and caught Eskel's shoulder, pulling him to a headlock, but both were smiling, clearly used to rough housing. “Hey, this isn't winter stuck up a mountain. I have help here. You don't want me to show the best Toussaint has? Fine, maybe go eat in the stable with Roach.”

Squirming out of the lock, Eskel shoved Geralt away a little. “No, I'll eat, after you spent an hour raving about your majordomo and how amazing he is at everything.” Golden eyes finally landed on Barnabas-Basil and Eskel smiled, bending his neck in a short bow. “It's nice to meet you, thank you for taking care of my brother.”

 _Brother?_ But, that kiss at the door... did Witchers have families? Barnabas-Basil opened his mouth and nothing came out, so he simply nodded and got to work. Geralt grabbed Eskel again, twining their fingers together and pulling him back towards the bedroom. The door shut and Barnabas-Basil didn't hear a peep until he announced dinner. As they were eating, sharing stories and wine, he went around the house to do a little tidying, checking the guest room to make sure Geralt's _brother_ didn't need anything. His bags were there, armor and swords too, but the bed hadn't been touched. And the next morning, the bed was still pristine. Staying in Geralt's room, then. Maybe this is what he meant when he said no one would _use_ the guest room.

Eskel left two days later. Geralt saw him off with a steamy kiss in the front hall, tongue lapping at his bottom lip before pressing into his mouth. Even in full armor, Eskel managed to bend himself forward, wrapping around Geralt completely. They broke apart with a loud smack and Barnabas-Basil almost dropped the candlestick he was polishing; he was in the kitchen, they didn't even notice him there, but he _definitely_ noticed them. Now that he knew their true relationship, the arousal in his belly became even more uncomfortable. He wasn't simply lusting after the master of the house, but his brother... who was also his lover? Maybe that sort of thing was allowable in the north.

Geralt returned after seeing Eskel to the gate and turned towards the kitchen. “Thanks a lot, B.B, for all your help. I know it's not your job to cook, but I wanted to show Eskel the jewels of Corvo Bianco, and your skills certainly count in that regard.”

A faint blush tinted his cheeks. “Thank you, sir, I was glad to be of assistance. Will your brother visit again? Perhaps I can cook a more lavish meal.”

Geralt's brow tightened for a second before a laugh burst from his lips. “Brother, oh, I'm sorry B.B, I didn't think. Eskel's my _brother in arms_.” His eyes drifted back to the bedroom and he laughed again. “What you must've thought.”

Barnabas-Basil blinked, cheeks getting redder as pride turned to embarrassment. Yes, he _did_ think, and he was silly to do so. “My apologies, sir, I shouldn't have assumed.”

Shrugging it off as he did so many other things, Geralt walked further into the kitchen, searching for food, brushing Barnabas-Basil as he passed. “Don't worry about it, you aren't the first to make that mistake. People used to say we looked alike as children. If another one of my brothers comes to visit, know I mean brothers in arms.”

“Yes, sir, I will most definitely remember.”

Food secured—a hunk of bread and a chicken leg left over from last night's meal—Geralt nodded and headed into the dining area. “I mean it,” he called over his shoulder. “Thanks for your help.”

* * *

Another _brother_ did stop by soon after, this one with dark hair, pale skin where Eskel had a warm honey glow. He had facial scars as well, not as extensive as Eskel's, but more obvious than Geralt's own scars. He supposed it made sense, what with their professions, it did add a roguish edge to them all, this one—Lambert—specifically. He had the lush lips and beautiful face half the ladies in Toussaint would gladly throw their virtue away on for one sweet night.

Once again, there was a heated kiss at the door, a possessive hand on the new Witcher's throat as Geralt dragged him towards the master bedroom. “Uh... fuck,” Lambert moaned.

Barnabas-Basil was tucked away in the dining room, doing some routine cleaning of Geralt's paintings. The Witcher had quite an eye for art and sometimes, he took extra time to appreciate the works. Too much time today, it seemed. His heart beat sped up and Geralt's eyes flashed open, snapping right to him.

“Shit, Lambert, get off.” He shoved Lambert into the master bedroom and smiled at Barnabas-Basil. “Sorry, B.B, didn't see you there. Yeah, I, uh... I have a guest for the next few days. We'll try to stay out of your way.” He slowly backed into the room, calling, “Sorry,” one last time before shutting the door.

Barnabas-Basil finished his chore as quickly as possible before heading out for the evening, to give Geralt some alone time with his guest. Unlike Eskel, when he passed by the master bedroom, a deep moan rolled through the wood. “Fuck, Geralt I missed your tongue...”

“Quiet,” Geralt whispered. The rest of his words were lost in a hushed whisper, but Lambert's moans followed Barnabas-Basil out the door. He had a little difficulty walking back to his cottage...

* * *

Two weeks later, a woman with violet eyes stepped out of a portal, giving Barnabas-Basil a fright as he sat on the porch enjoying a quick lunch before returning to his duties. Beautiful eyes filled with cunning and singular focus slid over to him. “Where is Geralt?”

“Yen?” Geralt called before Barnabas-Basil could utter a single sound. Did everyone Geralt knew have eyes that pierced the soul? He stepped out of the stable where he'd been fussing over Roach, planning to take her for a ride around the property; it was sweet the way he cared for his mount, not simply as an animal of great use to him, but Barnabas-Basil heard Geralt talking to Roach more than once, whispering kind words into her fuzzy ears.

He stepped farther out of the stable, already in his riding clothes. “What are you doing here?”

Sweeping in, the woman—sorceress, Barnabas-Basil guessed, the portal was a big clue towards that end—wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled Geralt down for a kiss. A very long kiss. Barnabas-Basil dropped his eyes when he saw a flash of pink tongue pushing its way inside Geralt's mouth. When she pulled away, Geralt's lopsided grin was smeared with light pink lipstick, his hands around the small of her back.

She wiped the smeared makeup away before kissing him again, softer this time. “I hear that Eskel and Lambert got an invite to this place before I did. I felt very left out.”

Shrugging, Geralt led her back into the stable to take Roach's tack off, ride postponed for the moment. “I didn't invite them, Eskel was in the area and Lambert kind of showed up unannounced.”

“Ah, I see I'm following their lead then.”

Barnabas-Basil slipped inside and prepared the master bedroom with fresh sheets and towels. He changed the guest room sheets as well, though he knew they wouldn't see any use.

Geralt did introduce his guest properly just before dinner— “B.B, meet Yennefer, Yennefer, this is Barnabas-Basil, the best majordomo a Witcher could ask for.”

The next few days were... interesting. He didn't see Madame Yennefer for the rest of her visit, though he did overhear some amorous noises coming from Geralt's bedroom, and once when he went in to clean, he found a rather large _phallus_ , contained in some sort of... strappy, harness device, sitting on the bedside table. Geralt didn't mention it and Barnabas-Basil definitely didn't ask, but he did have fantasies of Madame Yennefer kneeling behind Geralt in bed, white hair sticking to the back of his neck with sweat, both of them looking at Barnabas-Basil as he stood by, waiting to see what they could need from him. For he would give Geralt _anything_ , he only needed to ask.

* * *

Barnabas-Basil was overseeing a delivery of wine—from one of Geralt's many grateful employers, the Witcher was fast becoming the favorite of Toussaint, saving many a wine cellar from an infestation of beasts—into their own cellar. He was busy counting barrels when musical trill of a voice caught his attention.

“Excuse me, this is the home of Geralt of Rivia, correct? Or do I have the wrong vineyard? There are a lot around here.”

“Yes, of course. Who might I say is—” Barnabas-Basil looked up and his jaw fell open. Striking blue eyes and a feathered bonnet he'd recognize anywhere. “Master Dandelion! Goodness, I never expected—welcome to Corvo Bianco!” Dandelion was Barnabas-Basil's _favorite_ bard. He managed to see him perform at the tournament some years ago before his falling out with her Illustrious Highness Duchess Anna Henrietta, and he savored the memory of the catchy rhymes mixed with heart wrenching prose. Tales of warriors and damsels, sorceresses and magic, songs he was only just now realizing had to be about Geralt and his adventures, it was so obvious.

Master Dandelion fluttered a hand, moving in close. “Oh no my good, man. Ha-ha!” he laughed, voice suddenly loud enough to carry all around them. “Master Dandelion? I'm flattered to be mistaken for such an artist, but my name is Jaskier, a humble northern bard...” He dropped his voice again. “If you please, I'm traveling incognito, a bit. My pen-name in the north is Jaskier, I find it's better to travel under that name, especially because her Supreme Highness still has, ah... reservations about my presence. You seem a decent fellow, can you welcome a Jaskier to Geralt's home?”

Yes, Barnabas-Basil had heard rumors of Dandelion's—or, Jaskier's—falling out with the Duchessa, and while he was a loyal subject, the arts held a special place in his heart. He nodded, bowing low. “Yes, of course, I'm pleased to welcome Master Geralt's friend Jaskier, to his estate.” A bright smile lit up Jaskier's eyes, as blue as the most pristine lake. Barnabas-Basil felt his cheeks grow warm and ducked his head. “I shall see where Master Geralt is—”

“No need, B.B, I'm right here. Jaskier, how did you hear I was in Toussaint?”

Geralt had been in the garden today, harvesting plants he needed for his potions. Sweat shined on his brow, sleeves rolled up just above his elbows; there were green stains under his nails from grass, and a bit of dirt smeared here and there, every bit the rough country man, but the white hair and striking eyes showed his nobility. Barnabas-Basil cleared his throat and stepped back, allowing Jaskier through to greet the person he really came here to see.

Jaskier threw his arms open wide and stepped in close. Barnabas-Basil did not miss the way Geralt's eyebrow arched at his familiarity, but there was a small smile on his lips as well. “Geralt, my dearest Witcher! I had a singing engagement at a nearby vineyard and when I heard talk of Madame Simone's new neighbor—a handsome devil with _yellow_ eyes, she said—I knew there could be no other. While my employer did offer me lodgings, I couldn't resist a visit to see you. Help a man out, let me stay?”

That white eyebrow stayed arched and Geralt's smile got bigger. “They threw you out for getting too handsy with someone you shouldn't have.” It was a statement, not a question.

Jaskier's shoulders slumped. “I didn't even do anything! _Haven't_ done anything in years, you know I'm well—” He bit back his words, suddenly remembering the rough workers making their way around the property. Barnabas-Basil dropped back to finish unloading the delivery, but he kept a close eye on Jaskier, his face heating up (and not from the sun). He was a fan, it was normal for fans to have... small infatuations, with their idols. And to see Jaskier here, standing with Geralt, their bodies turned towards one another in a very unmistakable way... Yes, Barnabas-Basil was feeling very hot indeed.

Geralt threw an arm around Jaskier's neck and pulled him in close, into a one-armed hug that could be mistaken for close friendship, but Barnabas-Basil was near enough to see the bard wrap his elegant long fingered hands around Geralt's waist, one finger dipping below the waist of his trousers. Geralt slid his nose through Jaskier's hair, sniffing him the way he sniffed at Eskel and Lambert when he thought no one was looking. He closed his eyes and his face softened. It was a sight to behold, a Witcher truly at rest...

“B.B?” Geralt's voice pulled him out of his daydream. Those striking eyes met his, smile still in place. “Make up the guest room?”

“Of course, sir.” _The guest room your guests never seem to use._

Barnabas-Basil watched them walk up towards the house, Geralt listening intently to whatever story Jaskier had for him. Just before the front door closed, he yanked the bard into his arms, crushing their lips together. Barnabas-Basil almost dropped the list he was holding. He was used to Geralt's close, uh, friendships, but it made sense for him to take up with other Witchers, and even with a sorceress. But a _human_? That was... a possibility Barnabas-Basil hadn't thought of before.

He gave Marlene the night off. Master Dandelion—ah, _Jaskier_ —was visiting, and Barnabas-Basil wanted to treat the Continent's greatest bard to some of his cooking. Geralt said nothing when he saw him in the kitchen, only chuckled lightly and plucked the wine bottle from the sideboard. He let Barnabas-Basil pick the wines almost every night, not really showing a definite preference; he trusted the majordomo's choices. Honestly, it was flattering, in his alone time, he even dreamed of sharing a bottle with Geralt, just the two of them...

Both of them scrubbed clean, wearing soft linen shirts and two pairs of the relaxation trousers Geralt got from Eskel, they talked and laughed over the starter, their fingers and shoulders brushing together every once in a while as they reached across the table. Like a pair of old lovers, most comfortable in one another's presence. Barnabas-Basil tried not to let his thoughts wander as he served the meal, not even when Master Jaskier's brilliant eyes settled on his face, just as his hand settled on Geralt's knee under the table.

“Tell me Barnabas-Basil, how is dear Geralt as an employer? His table manners are a sight better than I remember, and I imagine that's your doing.” Geralt shoved lightly at Jaskier's shoulder, but said nothing more. He too turned to face Barnabas-Basil, two sets of ethereal eyes focused on him.

“Well, he is most suitable. I must admit, I was ready for an absolute novice to take over this estate, yet he has taken my suggestions and worked to make Corvo Bianco as great as it once was.” He bowed his head, closing his eyes for a second to give himself a break from the two glorious men hanging on his every word. “I am very happy to be in his employ.”

When he looked up, there was a bit of a blush across Geralt's cheeks. Jaskier smacked him playfully. “Well, Geralt, turns out you know how to be a gentleman after all. Does this mean I can show you off at court?”

“Mmm, depends. Is there a court on the Continent you're allowed to set foot in?” He drank his wine to keep from laughing at Jaskier's scowl.

Jaskier sang the praises of Barnabas-Basil's cooking all night long. “This pheasant, oh, it's the best I've ever had. And I've sat at the ducal table! This bread, so light and airy. The butter is delicious, you only find butter this yellow in Toussaint...”

Barnabas-Basil continued to serve them late into the night, watching Jaskier's cheeks get redder and redder with the rich food and richer wine. Finally, Geralt plucked the glass from his hand and stood up, pulling Jaskier with him. “I think it's time for bed. Thanks B.B, don't worry about cleaning up.”

“I most certainty will, sir. Do you expect me to leave a job half done?”

He almost bit through his tongue at his gall, but Geralt laughed, looping Jaskier's arm over his shoulder. “Too right, B.B, goodnight.”

He walked Jaskier to the master bedroom, the bard scowling the whole way. “I'm not so drunk that I can't walk, Geralt.”

“I know, but sometimes I like getting my hands on you...” As the door closed, Barnabas-Basil caught a glimpse of Geralt's tongue lapping up Jaskier's neck.

Though he was a good, efficient worker, Barnabas-Basil may have drawn out the cleaning a bit. He cleared the table and stored the remaining meat in the cold storage—Geralt liked to have cold meat as a mid day snack when he was working outside—then took his time washing the dishes, scraping every morsel of food instead of leaving them to soak. He had to be loud enough to show he was working, but quiet enough to overhear the goings on in the master bedroom.

There was a soft, almost musical sigh. “I may have indulged too much. You can't blame me, that majordomo of yours is far too good at picking out wines.”

“Don't I know it. I haven't yet found the thing he's not good at.” There was another soft hitch of breath. “Too much wine to let me have you tonight?”

The quiet rustling of Geralt's silk sheets—the ones Madame Yennefer insisted he buy, the ones he always had for company—and then a soft purr met Barnabas-Basil's ears. “Never too much for that, my beautiful Witcher. Have at me.”

Barnabas-Basil's hands stilled when he heard the first moan, cock suddenly hard. He held tight to the plate, squeezing it like life as the moans became more frequent, the sound of a bard having his instrument played by a true master. Witchers lived long, this he knew, imagine, all the skills and sexual prowess one could build up with such an extended life time... a truly dizzying thought.

Barnabas-Basil closed his eyes and imagined himself in that room, watching instead of just listening. Jaskier was the guest, so Geralt would give him attention, of course. And Barnabas-Basil would stand by the door, watching, waiting to see what they needed from him. More wine, perhaps? Water for a bath? He'd watch them make love and step in to wipe the sweat from Geralt's brow as he fucked into Jaskier, over and over and over again.

The plate in his hands cracked and Barnabas-Basil jumped. The noises in the bedroom did not stop, now Jaskier was chanting Geralt's name, “Geralt, yes, please, Geralt... Geralt...” The kitchen was clean enough, the rest could wait until morning. He needed—he needed to go. Retire for the night. He also had a few glasses of wine at Jaskier's insistence, and it was doubtlessly effecting him.

Securing the door behind him, he walked quickly to his cottage and bolted the door, leaning against it as his heart raced and his cock twitched in his breeches. Stripping his clothes, Barnabas-Basil collapsed onto his bed and wrapped his fingers around himself, stroking faster than normal. He didn't need to build up or tease, the sounds, the sights, the very _thought_ , of Geralt and Jaskier making love in the house he tended every day, the bed he made just this afternoon...

He spilled, trying to contain the mess in his hand, but some dripped onto the bed. Laundry day was tomorrow, he could endure one night on soiled sheets. He looked down at the mess on his hand and frowned, he didn't want to get up and fetch a cloth, all his energy drained from the sudden release at the end of a tantalizing day.

Closing his eyes, Barnabas-Basil licked his own come from his fingers, imaging it was Geralt's.

* * *

He'd gone too far, he knew it. A few inappropriate erections in his own cottage were one thing, passable, if a little _indecent_ , yet finding himself hard and panting in Geralt's bedroom was quite another. The sheets were still warm, he could smell it. The young man who just left, he was... one of many, recently.

A very pretty young man, Barnabas-Basil was a little surprised when Geralt introduced him as “One of the finest brawlers in Toussaint.”

Hair the color of straw, clear eyes and a clearer complexion, the man blushed. “Geralt, you flatter me. We haven't even fought hand to hand! Merely a battle of wits, which you handled well.”

They had a quick lunch and then Geralt took his guest for a tour of the property, which ended in the master bedroom. Barnabas-Basil was in the kitchen, as was his usual place, when he saw Geralt drag his guest—Mancomb, he thought he said—by the hand. “We haven't fought hand to hand, it's true, but how about my sword? Surely that will do,” Geralt said before closing the door.

Then there was a woman, short hair, well built, quite handsome really. Also a fighter, Geralt said. They enjoyed a meal out in the yard, watching the goings on of the estate. When Geralt turned to the bedroom, _as he always did_ , Barnabas-Basil heard snatches of conversation. “I don't mind being beaten by a woman. I don't mind being fucked by a woman either. I have something, if you're interested...”

Barnabas-Basil retreated to his cottage at those words. Geralt—he never thought—well, he shouldn't be thinking like that... the Witcher was, for lack of a better descriptor, so virile and masculine, Barnabas-Basil never imagined he'd let anyone, other than a powerful sorceress, take him. He closed his eyes and saw himself in the master bed, the one he'd made up with silk sheets so many times, gently rolling his hips, thrusting into that shapely ass, Geralt under him, begging for more.

There were others. So many others. The Captain of the Ducal Guard himself, Damien de la Tour came by for lunch and stayed for breakfast; Liam de Coronata and Matilda de Vermentino stopped in to personally invite Geralt to their wedding, then didn't leave until the following morning, the guest room untouched; another Witcher with a beard and a shaved head; a guest from Skellige, who Geralt praised as the “Iron Maiden” of the isles; and probably others Barnabas-Basil missed on their way through. It was... rather dizzying, to be honest.

Geralt had such an easy way with all of them, laughing and joking like old friends, but the visits always turned amorous. It was... Barnabas-Basil hadn't gotten himself off this much in years, preferring to put his energy into his work, what was the use if one didn't have a partner for comfort? But the way Geralt looked at him, even when the house was empty and he ate his meals alone, the kind Witcher was attentive like an old friend, or even a lover. And almost every night now, Barnabas-Basil would go back to his cottage and attend to himself, visions of golden eyes raking over him dancing in his mind.

But there were things to do around the estate, no doubt there. Barnabas-Basil threw himself into his work and soon enough, he realized they were finished. All his suggested renovations had been seen to, Corvo Bianco restored to its former glory. Bubbling with excitement, he went towards the house to inform Geralt.

He found the Witcher raiding the pantry (as usual, he had a veracious appetite not just for bed company, but food as well). “Master Geralt, I have good news regarding the renovations.”

“Hmm, they coming along alright?” Geralt actually stopped rooting through the pantry, turning to look at him.

Barnabas-Basil swelled with pride. “I am delighted to inform you we have completed our labors. You can now devote yourself to enjoying the vineyard's delights to the fullest.” Geralt smiled—broad and true, not the normal small quirk of a lip that usually graced his handsome visage—and Barnabas-Basil grew bold. “You must forgive me temerity, sir, but I thought, with all the work on Corvo Bianco completed, and with the estate looking more beautiful than ever, it might be appropriate to commemorate the moment.”

Geralt paused for a moment, then nodded. “Sure, why not. We should celebrate.”

“During the tidying that preceded the renovations, I came across a bottle of Sepremento, the 1250 vintage. I cannot say by what miracle it survived, but it is here. And we've cause to open it today.” He held his breath a little. Geralt never turned down his wine suggestions—praising them, in fact—and this was such a momentous occasion, it seemed appropriate to share something so fine.

Geralt nodded. “Sounds great. I'd love to share a bottle with you.”

They went out to the patio, Barnabas-Basil setting out some bread and cheese. There were Gwent cards scattered on the patio table that he tried to safely move aside, left there from the last time Lambert visited and decided he wanted to do something other than take Geralt to bed.

They sat together for hours, Geralt asking for stories of the previous owners. Barnabas-Basil gladly shared, he was a vault of knowledge, not just for wine and food, but of the history of the beautiful property they had now returned to its former glory. It was a proud day for both of them. The conversation soon turned to Geralt's plans, what he wanted out of Corvo Bianco; based on what he'd already done, Barnabas-Basil was totally confident the Witcher would be a fine master, the best the estate had ever had. Oh, the things they'd do together... But first, they must produce. The next few years were going to be a labor of love, getting the grapes ready to make excellent wine, worthy of the Ducal table itself.

Geralt eyed the bottom of his glass, a small dribble of wine remaining. “This Sepremento got me dreaming, it's amazing.”

“Isn't it thought? Allow me to top you off, sir.” Pleasantly fuzzy himself, Barnabas-Basil went to pour him some more.

Geralt nodded his head in thanks and quietly sipped the rest of his wine. Then, a small smirk crossed his lips. “I know something else you can do for me.” Wine glass in one hand, the other crossed the small distance between them, settling on Barnabas-Basil's knee.

His breath caught and they were locked in stillness for a long moment. Sweat beaded on the back of Barnabas-Basil's neck, the warm glass in his hand suddenly too hot. This was... all his fantasies—being near Geralt as he fucked someone, their eyes locking across the room—he never once imagined that the Witcher might want to touch him as well. He... he needed a moment.

Geralt gave him that moment. The hand on his leg, so heavy and warm, didn't move up or down, but stayed right where he put it. Finally, Geralt spoke, his voice low and soothing, but there was a bit of a purr to it as well, and Barnabas-Basil did not expect a voice like that to be so arousing, and yet, here he was, cock painfully (obviously) hard in his breeches, Geralt's eyes on him.

“I don't know how much you know about Witchers, I can smell...” He paused, eyes shining with a smirk. “I know you want me. You see me with my friends, you linger. Do you know how many times I've wanted to ask you to join?” Barnabas-Basil said nothing, his expansive vocabulary seemed to disappear suddenly, heart hammering so loud, it was all he could think of—aside from the lovely, amazing hand on his knee. “I don't usually misread, but if I am, you can tell me to keep my hands to myself and we can pretend this didn't happen. You're still the best majordomo in all of Toussaint and I wouldn't let you go for anything, especially not me thinking with my cock instead of my brain.”

Barnabas-Basil made the grave mistake of looking up, meeting those eyes he was so enthralled with. People spoke of the terror when they first saw a Witcher, how inhuman they appeared with their slitted pupils; Barnabas-Basil had never been afraid of Geralt, in fact, his differences only enhanced his beauty, making the human oh so weak.

He shouldn't, he really, _really_ shouldn't. Geralt was his employer, the master of the estate that Barnabas-Basil attended to... He licked his lips. “You are... not misreading.”

The smile that crossed Geralt's face was incandescent, brighter than anything Barnabas-Basil had ever seen from him before, eyes alight in the setting sun, lips soft and inviting. “Good,” he said, then leaned in.

The knowledge that Geralt's lips really were as soft as they looked was almost too much for Barnabas-Basil and he found himself swaying, the glass in his hand tipping... Strong, sure fingers plucked the glass from him and set it aside before Geralt kissed him again, and again, and again, the wine on their lips making it all the sweeter.

It was sunset, most of the workers were done for the day, and yet the thought of getting caught (they were on the patio after all, in full view of the rest of the property) made Barnabas-Basil pull away. He blinked, and Geralt was still there, beautiful eyes gazing at him as if he were the loveliest creature in the world, one hand rubbing his knee again. “Can we... that is to say, perhaps we could go inside?” Words usually came easy to his tongue, but he was having trouble at the moment, trouble with everything, talking, walking... Geralt's hand slid to the small of his back and ushered him inside and Barnabas-Basil wasn't entirely sure this wasn't a dream of some sort. A very, very pleasant dream.

The door to the master bedroom opened and his mind suddenly cleared, reality slamming in to him. Geralt of Rivia, the handsome, gracious master of Corvo Bianco, a Witcher who can—and did—have any lover he wanted, suddenly wanted Barnabas-Basil in his bed. A shiver ran through his whole body and Geralt's hands froze where they idly playing with the buttons of his vest. “Are you alright? We can stop. I'd really like to show you a good time, but if you're having second thoughts, we can—”

“No.” Normally, Barnabas-Basil wouldn't interrupt, but their formal roles seemed to be slightly relaxed at the moment. “Keep going, I—it's... What do you want, sir? From me? What would you like tonight?” Cleaning up after Geralt's guests told him some things of what the Witcher preferred in bed; he didn't mind a woman _on top_ , for one, but he also enjoyed the active role, as he did with Master Jaskier. Or, at least that seemed to be the case. Barnabas-Basil knew what _he_ wanted, but he'd never assume—

Golden eyes met his and hands fell to his hips, pulling them flush together, the Witcher's ample cock pressing against his own, more moderate showing. “First of all, no more sir for tonight. It's Geralt to my friends and lovers, and you are surely both. Secondly, what do _you_ want, B.B? You give your time, your care, your life, to this place, serving me, the house... You give me everything I could ever need. So what do you want?” He leaned forward, catching Barnabas-Basil's bottom lip between his teeth and sucking gently before letting the soft flesh go. He rubbed their noses together, then ducked down to slide his nose up what little he could reach of Barnabas-Basil's neck. “What would you like?” he purred.

The sound vibrated down his neck and Barnabas-Basil held tighter to far too wide shoulders. “It is my fondest wish, sir—ah, Geralt—to continue to serve you in this capacity as well.” Feeling bold, he wrapped one hand around the back of Geralt's neck, fingers scratching through the shorter hair at the base of his skull before sliding up and combing through the longer tresses. “When you entertain guests, I thought... I'd think about attending to you then, giving you whatever you needed, but could not fetch yourself, whilst in the throes of passion.”

Barnabas-Basil might have said too much. It was one thing to accept an invitation into the master of the house's bed, let him touch, kiss, sniff and otherwise make Barnabas-Basil want to melt, but it was quite another to admit to not so idle fantasies one had been nursing for... close to a year now, ever since Master Eskel came to stay.

Geralt merely chuckled. “I had a feeling about that. Do you know how many times I hoped you'd stop working on whatever you had in the kitchen, just come and knock on my door and ask to join? It would've made everything perfect.” He kissed him again, tongue sweeping inside his mouth, lighting every nerve Barnabas-Basil possessed on fire. Hands nearly spanned his whole waist as they squeezed. “That's truly what you want? You don't think that's what you have to do? We're equal here, B.B, I always am when it comes to a lover.”

 _Lover_. The word rang inside his head like the most glorious bell heralding his entry into heaven. Barnabas-Basil nodded. “Yes, I want to serve you, take care of you. You've had a long day, allow me to...” His words faltered again. “Whatever you wish of me.”

“Mmm,” Geralt nodded and thought for a moment before stepping back. “Could use a bath.” The basin was already in the room, and the labor of filling it would help calm Barnabas-Basil so he didn't embarrass himself by coming in his small clothes, a serious possibility with Geralt's cock still so close and so obvious, even through his breeches.

“Right away.”

Barnabas-Basil tried to leave, only for Geralt to catch his sleeve, pulling him back. Their lips were a mere inch apart. “New rule, though? When you serve me _like this_ , I don't want you all done up. I want to see that body of yours.” Barnabas-Basil did not object when Geralt reached around his neck and untied his ruff, placing it carefully on the chair by the door. Scarred fingers gently opened the buttons on his waist coat and set that aside as well. His shirt followed, then his belt. His breath caught when Geralt knelt down to remove his boots and stockings.

When he stood in breeches alone, Geralt nodded. “Alright, time for that bath.” He pressed a soft kiss to Barnabas-Basil's lips before drifting back to the bed, laying back and opening a book of all things. “After you have it ready, you can undress me. Don't keep me waiting.” But the sparkle in his eyes told Barnabas-Basil that he would wait all night if it pleased the majordomo.

The work of filling the bath was familiar, it allowed Barnabas-Basil to clear his mind and focus. He'd tend to Geralt—more intimately than usual—and his heart sang at the thought. All that moon pale skin under his hands, to touch and caress, to pamper and bathe, a thick cock to stroke. He paused in the hall, the last bucket of water sloshing a little, and pressed his palm over his straining erection, “Still work to do,” he told himself. “Satisfaction comes later.”

Only when he entered the bedroom again and saw the small smile of Geralt's face did he remember of a Witcher's excellent hearing. But if Geralt heard him, he made no mention of it. He regarded Barnabas-Basil as he filled the tub and put his book aside, standing. With a flick of his eyes, Barnabas-Basil stepped back and watched the complicated hand gesture he used to heat the water; he felt bad leaving a job half done, but magic was it's own sort of servant.

The tub now steaming, Geralt arched an eyebrow and raised his arms expectantly. Barnabas-Basil flew into action, his skilled hands stripping Geralt's clothes. If he spent an extra moment stroking his thumb down a wrist, or let his fingers graze over a nipple to hear Geralt sigh, well that was part of this type of _service_. They were no longer master and servant, but one lover gently tending to another. Barnabas-Basil felt the utmost confidence in every small touch he allowed himself, especially when he got more of those low purrs as a result.

Before he climbed into the water, Geralt stopped, laying a hand on Barnabas-Basil's bare shoulder, thumb stroking his collarbone. “You said you want to serve me. If you want to stop at any point tonight, simply say, 'I'll take my leave.' Is that alright? We can stop whenever you want, don't be shy about telling me.”

 _I'll take my leave_ , it was the phrase Barnabas-Basil muttered, almost absently, when he needed to attend to a task somewhere else on the estate. Geralt always smiled and waved him off, saying something charming like, “I can handle it, no worries,” or “What would I do without you B.B?” Clearly, Geralt was paying attention to his majordomo's habits and idiosyncrasies. He should expect nothing less from a Witcher.

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good.” And with that, Geralt climbed into the steaming tub, stretching out as much as it allowed his large frame. “Have at me, B.B, I need a good scrub.”

Barnabas-Basil knelt next to the tub and got to work. His chest was bare, so he didn't have to roll up his sleeves as he wet a cloth and lathered it with soap, swiping over Geralt's chest, paying special attention to his nipples. The buds were more reactive than he dared hope and the erection that had flagged while he filled the bath, now appeared above the water. Geralt's cock was, dare he say it, more marvelous than Barnabas-Basil had thought. Thick and long, with a ruddy head. His sac was perfect as well, dusted with dark hair instead of the white hair on his head, floating a bit in the water.

Geralt caught him staring and widened his legs, allowing Barnabas-Basil a good look. “I've been working all day,” he said. “Need a good scrub all over.” He nodded down between his spread legs and Barnabas-Basil did not miss the request.

Working up more lather on the cloth, he dipped his hand into the water, stroking across Geralt's balls. He started there first, gently cupping each orb, feeling the weight of them, the softness of the skin. The uninformed might say a Witcher's skin is as tough as leather, but here, Barnabas-Basil found it the same as all men's. Geralt's thighs were soft and creamy, his sac like silk; the velvety skin of his cock moved like silk wrapped over steel as he pulled back the foreskin to really wash away the sweat of the day.

Geralt groaned, head falling back onto the rim of the tub. “Slower,” he ordered, voice a low, contented growl. “Play with it a bit more, let me feel you.”

Soon enough Barnabas-Basil had both his arms in the tub, one hand wrapped around Geralt's cock, the other sliding down his perineum, dipping lower until he found... “Yeah, fuck,” Geralt gasped. “Right there. That's where I need you. Get to work.”

Barnabas-Basil got to work. Though the water washed away the soap on his fingers, there was plenty of lather already mixed into the water, which made it significantly slick enough to press the tip of one finger _inside_ Geralt. He moaned, hair damp from the rising steam sticking to his neck in long, swooping curls. Barnabas-Basil didn't push too much, simply left his hand cupping Geralt's balls, one finger just barely inside, while he stroked, tightening his grip with every up stroke, pushing lust heated blood towards the tip. Geralt's skin was pinking from the heat of the bath, but his cock was almost red with the need to come. Ignoring his cock throbbing between his legs, Barnabas-Basil worked harder, stroking faster, until Geralt arched, and he—

“No,” he gasped. “Stop.”

Barnabas-Basil went still, then slowly pulled his hands from the bath. Worry pooled low in his stomach; Geralt seemed to be enjoying himself, there was no way he'd done something wrong, to displease the man he so wanted to serve in every possible way...

Geralt took a few deep breaths, steadying himself before he climbed to his feet. That heavy cock hung down, dipping under its own weight, water droplets racing down the shaft and dripping from his sac, a glorious little water fall Barnabas-Basil wanted nothing more than to taste. One hand steadying the base of his cock, Geralt nodded down to it. “Don't want to dirty the water. Finish the job here. Can't leave it half done, now can we?”

Barnabas-Basil's mouth was watering. The Duchessa her glorious self could come and offer him a glass of Sangreal and he'd pick Geralt's cock every time. Freshly washed with his own hands, only the natural perfume of the Witcher's skin would remain, the true essence of the man. His mouth fell open and Geralt guided the plump head across Barnabas-Basil's tongue. The weight of it, the small, salty spurt of precome—Barnabas-Basil couldn't help his moan as he went to take more, more.

“Don't hurt yourself,” Geralt said, breaking the scene slightly. He laid a hand on Barnabas-Basil's shoulder and held him still, his lips only half way down the shaft. “It's bigger than most. But you can handle it, I would expect nothing less from my majordomo.”

His eyes fluttered closed and Barnabas-Basil groaned around the length, tongue lashing, cheeks hollowing as he sucked. It didn't take long for Geralt to finish. He tried to pull back, but Barnabas-Basil wrapped his hands around him, grabbing tight to his plush ass, drinking down the healthy mouthful of come that flooded across his tongue. He swallowed it all like the finest wine, not a drop spilled.

Geralt swayed. The heat of the bath, his climax, it was a heady mixture. Nodding to the bed, he climbed out and waited for Barnabas-Basil to dry him off before laying across the covers. He was hard again, or still, he couldn't tell... Eyes that were a little heavier flicked to Barnabas-Basil's breeches. “Off.”

There was oil on the bedside table by the time Barnabas-Basil climbed into the bed. Geralt poured some into his hand and started to lazily stroke his cock, his eyes never leaving the warm human so close to him. “Get yourself ready. You still have more work to take care of tonight.”

The idea of service steadied Barnabas-Basil's shaking fingers and he worked himself open, Geralt watching the whole time. By the time he managed to get three of his, admittedly, thin fingers inside himself, Geralt beckoned him. He hadn't yet considered the sheer girth he would be dealing with and bit down on his lip, frozen awkwardly on the side of the bed. Dropping the facade again, Geralt smiled. “Don't worry, I know how to go easy. Come on.”

Straddling Geralt's thighs, it seemed the simplest thing to line them up, the head of that glorious cock notching into his rim almost as if they were designed to go together. “Take your time, we have all night,” Geralt said. Patient, experienced hands guided him down, inch by amazing inch sliding inside. Barnabas-Basil wanted to cry out, but it was too good, his mind flooded with the pleasures of serving this Witcher, this beautiful man who life ignored, but he wanted to cherish. Hands came to circle his hips, holding them together. “Beautiful,” Geralt whispered.

They moved together, Geralt guiding their pace, Barnabas-Basil rolling his hips. He remembered this, making love, though it had been a fair few years. Geralt's cock sat like a steel rod inside him, tethering them together, holding him up. Pleasure sparked wherever Geralt touched, Barnabas-Basil didn't even notice he was coming until it was too late. Pearly white fluid poured over Geralt's fingers as he shook, the cock inside him twitching. Without missing a beat, as soon as Barnabas-Basil slumped forward, Geralt pushed him up, making sure he watched as he licked the come from his fingers. The sight drew another weak pulse from him and then, he was truly spent for the night.

Rolling them over, Geralt rose to wet a cloth in the still warm bathwater and wiped him down, cleaning the oil and come from his skin before starting on himself. “You've done well,” he said, a last little nod to Barnabas-Basil's _service_ , and climbed into bed.

As he guessed, the Witcher was a cuddler, and buried his nose in Barnabas-Basil's neck. “Stay the night? I like having bed company.”

A little euphoric from his orgasm, Barnabas-Basil giggled. “Yes indeed, I'm well aware of how much you enjoy your company, Geralt.”

Geralt snorted, pulling him closer. The bath needed clearing, and Barnabas-Basil should fold his clothing, not leave his breeches scattered around the floor. But at the mere thought of moving, Geralt's arm around him tightened. He supposed he could tend to those things tomorrow.

* * *

The weeks and months passed, Geralt invited Barnabas-Basil into his bed almost every night, but did not take offense when the majordomo declined. He did have chores to take care of after all, Corvo Bianco needed tending more than Geralt's cock some days, though he was continually flattered that such a glorious specimen of man desired him. It was obvious in the way Geralt held him close as they slept, hands stroking his back or squeezing his ass to appreciate the fine flesh there. It was an unusual arrangement between a majordomo and their employer, to be sure, but Geralt wasn't a normal kind of employer. Barnabas-Basil was happy, fulfilled in both his working life, and his love life.

The next time Eskel came to visit, Barnabas-Basil once again served them their meal. As he bowed, about to take his leave for the night, Geralt stopped him. “Hold on, B.B. Eskel, a word?” They both got up, disappearing into the master bedroom. Barnabas-Basil made use of himself clearing their dishes and putting away the remaining food.

When he finished, he turned back to the main hall only to find the door to the master bedroom open, Geralt standing there without a stitch on, beautiful cock hanging hard and heavy against his thigh. He nodded back towards the door. “Eskel and I could use some _service_ tonight. Do you mind?”

Heat crept up his neck and he nodded, already unbuttoning his ruff and all his other buttons. He stripped down to his breeches and stepped into the room to find Eskel similarly naked, stretched across the bed on his stomach. Oil glistened between his cheeks and he shot a crooked smile over his shoulder. Geralt swept in close, hot skin, throbbing cock laying against Barnabas-Basil's flank. “Eskel's all ready to go and now he needs a cock. Get me ready.”

Dropping to his knees, Barnabas-Basil spread the slick oil over the cock he was on intimate terms with, which was now going into the ass of another man. He stood by and watched as Geralt pounded Eskel, both of them seeming to last forever. Just when he thought one would peak and come, they'd hit another plateau and growl playfully at each other. Geralt bit down on Eskel's neck a few times, decorating the skin with bruises.

At one point, he looked up, tossing his hair back and smirking to where Barnabas-Basil stood at the side of the bed, waiting for them to need him. His hips didn't stall nor slow as Geralt asked, “B.B, I'm working up a thirst. Do we have any dessert wine?”

Barnabas-Basil returned with a glass to find Eskel on his side, eyes glazed with pleasure, spend sticking in his pubic hair. “Sorry you missed the show,” Geralt said as he took the glass. He kissed Eskel's shoulder and pulled out, rolling onto his back and sipping at the wine. He was still hard, cock shining with oil. “Your turn. Someone needs to finish me off.”

When Lambert next came to visit, Barnabas-Basil held his arms down as Geralt pounded him, the other Witcher begging for, “More, yes, hold me tighter B.B, there's a good man. Fuck Geralt...”

When Master Jaskier returned for a visit, Barnabas-Basil served them wine as they had a bath, Geralt idly playing with Jaskier's cock under the water. “Watch his face, B.B. He has the most expressive eyes.” With his orders clear, he stood back and watched Jaskier fall apart.

There was never any doubt in Barnabas-Basil's mind, Corvo Bianco had always been the place he was supposed to be, and now, with it's true and proper master in place, he found ways to serve that he'd never dreamed of. And all it took was a Witcher, who knew not of Toussaint's customs and it's rigid classes, but knew everything of the five chivalric virtues. He couldn't ask for a better employer, or a more tender lover, Geralt of Rivia gave him everything he never hoped to want from his life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one could ever say Barnabas-Basil was not a prudent man. Though his status with his... employer had changed somewhat, he was still the finest majordomo in all of Toussaint and his duties remained the same: caring for the property and guiding the hand of its master and steward, Geralt of Rivia. That being said, he did enjoy their non-professional activities very much.
> 
> However, come winter, his duties expanded in ways even Barnabas-Basil—with all his foresight and keen planning—did not expect. Eskel and Lambert had visited a few times, whenever a contract took them close to Geralt and they couldn't resist a night in his bed, but one bright morning, just as the air started to chill, both Witchers showed up on Corvo Bianco's door step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, this has a second chapter now. I did not expect this but here we are.
> 
> This chapter gets really kinky really fast. B.B is still serving Geralt in bed like in the first chapter, but this chapter shows exactly what happens when both Eskel and Lambert come to visit together... There's lost of come in this, like a lot a lot, so if that's a squick, I'd just stick to reading chapter one. Mentions of the Battle of Kaer Morhen and what happened after that. I use a lot of game canon here.
> 
> This might be sub Geralt? I'm not 100% sure, let me know what you think in the comments. Basically they take turns fucking each other all night, and this happens to be Geralt's turn, make of that what you will. Lots of soft dirty talk, because I love that kind of thing. Please enjoy <3

No one could ever say Barnabas-Basil was not a prudent man. Though his status with his... employer had changed somewhat, he was still the finest majordomo in all of Toussaint and his duties remained the same: caring for the property and guiding the hand of its master and steward, Geralt of Rivia. That being said, he did enjoy their non-professional activities very much.

However, come winter, his duties expanded in ways even Barnabas-Basil—with all his foresight and keen planning—did not expect. Eskel and Lambert had visited a few times, whenever a contract took them close to Geralt and they couldn't resist a night in his bed (now with Barnabas-Basil tending them all, kissing, licking, pouring excellent wine) but one bright morning, just as the air started to chill, _both_ Witchers showed up on Corvo Bianco's door step.

Geralt arched one snowy eyebrow. He was still at the breakfast table, toast half way to his mouth. “I didn't think you two would actually come.”

Lambert threw his bag under the table in the front hall and slumped into the chair opposite Geralt. “Kaer Morhen isn't the same without... you know.”

Eskel, much more polite, gently placed his bag outside the bedroom door, moving Lambert's things as well, before he took the other empty seat at the table. He leaned in, rubbing his cheek against Geralt's shoulder before digging in to the breakfast. Barnabas-Basil ducked back into the kitchen to get more for the three ravenous Witchers. “Cold too, you know how he hates the cold.”

“Sure do. Thanks, B.B, you're a prince.” Lambert swiped the two plates Barnabas-Basil handed him, snagging Eskel's bacon before handing the rest of the meal over.

Geralt watched them eat, shaking his head. But there was a fond smile on his lips. He was torn, the last few weeks, whether he should journey north for the winter and see if the others came to Kaer Morhen, but there was so much to do here, by the time he found out if the trip was worth the effort, it would be too late to turn back. But now his family was here, looking to him to shelter them for the season. Barnabas-Basil thought that was exactly how Geralt wanted it. Two house guests wouldn't be bad, especially these men, already so well acquainted with the comings and goings of Corvo Bianco, they might even lend a hand around the property, lighten Geralt's load a little.

Yes, Barnabas-Basil was pleased Geralt would have his family around him this season, he looked forward to whatever they wanted to involve him in.

* * *

Geralt set out the rules that very night. Wined and dined, bathed and scrubbed clean, two sets of yellow eyes flashed to Barnabas-Basil, Lambert extending one hand while he wrapped the other around Eskel's hips. “What do ya say, B.B? Help us break in the bed? The trip south wasn't nearly as difficult as climbing a mountain, we've still got energy to burn.”

Barnabas-Basil almost opened his mouth to accept, his fingers already twitching to remove his ruff, when Geralt stepped between him and the other Witchers. “Don't you dare, I haven't explained to him yet. Go to bed. I'll be there in a minute.”

Frowning softly (that is, until Eskel leaned in and kissed the sour look away) Lambert turned them towards the master bedroom. “Don't keep us waiting.”

As soon as the door closed, Geralt rounded on Barnabas-Basil, moving in close, resting his hands on the majordomo's hips. “Sorry, I got caught up with them today. I should have explained.”

“There's no need to explain.” Though Barnabas-Basil tried to only touch Geralt when they were safely behind his bedroom door, he did lean in, allowing scarred fingers to feel his human warmth. “Corvo Bianco is large enough for two long-term guests, especially since they won't use the actual guest room. Might I suggest we—”

“No, B.B, that's not what I mean.” Geralt rarely interrupted Barnabas-Basil and he already felt sorry about it. Biting his lip, he moved in closer, stroking his fingers down Barnabas-Basil's arm. “In the winter, we only do four things: train, eat, drink, and fuck. You have a lot of duties to attend to—things you're amazing at and I know you enjoy doing—I don't want to exhaust you. And I really don't want to have to hire another majordomo just so you can attend to my ass all winter. Please, don't feel obligated to be with us, I don't... I don't want to split your focus, drain your energy when you could be doing other things.”

Barnabas-Basil pressed his lips together. Yes, he remembered when Lambert stayed for more than a few nights, the youngest wolf was rather... exhausting. After waking with sore arms, sore thighs, and a sore ass, Barnabas-Basil declined Lambert and Geralt's company for a night to recuperate. And now he was facing a whole winter of that... “I see what you mean. Would it help if I made up a schedule? Showing how many nights I am available for extended activity versus lighter duties? It won't be any trouble. Besides...” Now, it was him who moved in close, closer than he'd allow outside of the master bedroom, lips almost brushing the loose, white hair hanging around Geralt's face. “It is my greatest pleasure to attend to your superb ass, Geralt, I look forward to the opportunity.”

Stepping back, Barnabas-Basil treasured the look on Geralt's face. He threw his head back, laughing a deep belly laugh. “Oh, B.B, you're amazing. Take however much time you need to make your schedule, I'm sure we'll love whatever you figure out. I'll take care of the interlopers for tonight.” Snatching a quick kiss (one that, despite its almost chaste nature, still stole Barnabas-Basil's breath, they didn't do that in the main room, only in Geralt's bed) he walked towards the bedroom door.

Lambert, chest already bare, stuck his head out of the door, frowning. “No B.B? Fuck, Geralt, we're not going to break him.”

Geralt shook his head and shoved Lambert back into the bedroom. Barnabas-Basil caught a glimpse of Eskel stretched out on the bed. Hmm, with all three of them here this winter (and Barnabas-Basil as well some nights) they might require more sleeping space. He'd look into it.

Though Geralt shut the door behind him, Barnabas-Basil could still hear his voice as he cleaned up the dishes. “You can do without him for a night, believe me, I can take care of you just as well. Now, you two have some penance to pay for arriving unannounced.”

* * *

It took a fortnight or so for the Witchers to ready the property for _winter training_ , as they called it. Geralt had started converting the disused back paddock for these purposes, but with Eskel and Lambert helping, they had it fixed up and filled with training dummies, sword racks, and other equipment in no time. Eskel even managed to find some old wood in one of the storage barns and constructed what looked like a climbing apparatus. “Nothing like running the walls, but it'll do,” he said.

Barnabas-Basil presented them with his schedule a few days later. Lambert was getting anxious for him to join them, always brushing by him in the house, eyes lingering on Barnabas-Basil's ass as they passed out on the property. Eskel was much more subtle about it, but there were looks, lips bitten rosy, tongues sliding across teeth... To tell the truth, Barnabas-Basil was eager to start as well. He'd grown fond of his time with Geralt, both his service (bathing him, working out knots in that scarred, muscular back before plunging two fingers into his hole and making him moan) and the tender aftercare Geralt insisted on, aftercare for _him_.

“I wanna thank you,” Geralt mumbled, hands rubbing over Barnabas-Basil's sweaty skin as they lay in bed, both of them a little sticky, but very sated. “You do so much work everywhere, you have to let me give you a break. I insist.”

His service complete for the night, Geralt well fucked and sleepy, Barnabas-Basil agreed, letting himself relax back into strong arms. He didn't mind giving the Witchers a few days to be together, he imagined they missed one another through the long year, but they were all getting restless now, time to get down to the serious business of their pleasure.

Geralt glanced at the carefully constructed time table, it included Barnabas-Basil's daily tasks as well as their nightly activities. No sex on Wednesday, so he could be up early to meet the grocery delivery that came, and only one night a week where he tended to all of them. One night for Geralt, one night for Eskel, one for Lambert. “What about you?” Geralt asked. “No night for us to treat you?”

“You treat me by asking me to participate,” Barnabas-Basil said. Eskel and Lambert were crowded around Geralt, rubbing up against him like humping dogs. They all agreed that Barnabas-Basil's service began in the bedroom, no where else, and they respected those boundaries. But Lambert's hands longed to hold the majordomo, touch him, pull him into the middle of the embraces he so often found them in. He grabbed Geralt instead, one hand wrapped around Eskel's hips. “Besides, I do need a few nights of rest. Do you agree with the schedule?”

Eskel chuckled softly. “How could we not? We love tag teaming Geralt's ass, it's going to be great having reinforcements.”

Over the past weeks, Lambert and Eskel bent his ear with stories of their other home, Kaer Morhen, how they all tangled together every night, how it took both of them to subdue Geralt and treat him to the thorough fucking he truly deserved. Barnabas-Basil had seen it with his own eyes, sometimes Geralt liked to drive their pleasure, put him exactly where he wanted, but other nights he rolled on his belly, tilting his hips just right, or full on asked to be mounted and fucked hard.

Schedule set, Barnabas-Basil let himself have one more night of rest. They all watched him with sad eyes as he returned to his cottage for the night after serving their dinner. “Tomorrow,” he promised.

* * *

Tomorrow arrived and after attending to his daily chores (a light load today, taking a delivery of some new barrels, walking the back fields to see if they were ready for planting come spring) he returned to the house and started preparing dinner. Marlene took care of breakfast and lunch, which was suitable to her so she could return to her warm rooms before the colder night air really set in. It also offered the Wolves—it's what they called themselves from time to time, and Barnabas-Basil found the description most accurate—a chance to swan around the house with fewer clothes on, almost like they were advertising for Barnabas-Basil.

He'd seen both Lambert and Eskel in Geralt's bed before and found them all to be stunning examples of the male form, but there really was something to seeing all three together. He pressed a hand to his waist to steady himself, “Not yet, must wait...” he whispered.

All three of them flooded in just then, brushing against each other, exchanging small kisses like it was the most natural thing in the world. While Barnabas-Basil wouldn't leave Corvo Bianco for anything (certainly not the frigid north) part of him longed to see these three beautiful creatures in their first home, a large castle dripping with history, the stone walls the perfect framing for their knightly visages, scarred but still jovial with a lust for life, and each other...

He shook himself again, banishing the day dreams. Lambert smirked and leaned closer, his hand resting on the edge of the table near Barnabas-Basil's hip. “Care to let us in on those thoughts?” he purred.

“Later, perhaps, sir.” He tried not to watch the adorable pout across Lambert's face, or the way Eskel snagged him with one arm and pulled him in for a kiss, kissing the frown away.

Dinner went on like normal, between sharing stories of their year on The Path, and Geralt talking about his plans for the vineyard, they all took turns gushing over Barnabas-Basil's food. “It was nothing, sir,” he said as Eskel moaned around his third helping of mashed potato. “Marlene did most of the preparation, I simply put it together.”

“Too modest, B.B,” Geralt said.

As dinner turned into dessert and Barnabas-Basil fetched a suitably sweet wine, he returned to the table to watch Lambert slide into Eskel's lap, dropping kisses up the ruined side of his face. “What's say we take this into the bedroom?” Three sets of golden eyes turned to him, all the them glowing in the weak fire light. “You up for all of us tonight, B.B?”

Setting the wine down, Barnabas-Basil unbuttoned his ruff and placed it gently on the table, his shirt and vest following. “Yes, I do believe so.”

Watching Geralt with Lambert or Eskel individually was a treat. They were all hard muscles and soft, fleshy stomachs moving together, moaning and groaning with their deep, masculine voices. Barnabas-Basil started by the door, as was his usual spot, but they quickly called him closer to the bed. “We're gonna put the White Wolf through his paces tonight, B.B,” Eskel purred, his hand wrapped lightly around Geralt's throat. He snarled playfully at them, arching up, clearly not fighting to get free from the hold. “We're gonna fuck him until he's dripping, then you scrub him clean. Sound good?”

Barnabas-Basil's cheeks warmed instantly. “Yes, it does.”

He then stood by and watched with wide eyes, a small serving tray with wine in one hand, a towel clutched in the other. Eskel went first. After they flipped Geralt over onto his stomach and pulled him up onto his knees—head down, ass presented like a fucking gift—Lambert held a hand on the scruff of his neck as Eskel slowly fingered him open, using far too much oil, so much, it dripped down his balls and stained the sheets. Barnabas-Basil thought of the spare set waiting close by, but the larger part of his mind was consumed with the sight of Geralt pushing back into those fingers, needy little moans dripping from his lips.

“I love it when he's like this,” Eskel cooed. “The big bad White Wolf, but you're just a little puppy aren't you? Want someone to take care of you... good thing B.B has us for help this season, we know how demanding you are in winter.”

The dirty, yet oh so soft and tender words stole Barnabas-Basil's breath a little. Yes, he'd seen these rough men be kind to one another, kisses across cheeks and eyelids, foreheads pressed together as their breath fell into sync, but all together, as they endeavored to absolutely ruin the master of the house for the night... He shifted, wishing he could touch his cock. But he had a duty to attend to. When Geralt was wrecked, fucked out, and bathed by his patient hands, then he'd take his pleasure before they all fell into a deep, satisfied sleep.

Even as he held Geralt down, Lambert's other hand traced up and down his spine, stopping and ticking at the top of his crack before heading back up again, rubbing softly. When Eskel had three fingers inside Geralt, pulling the most decedent moans from him, Lambert ducked his head under stuttering, thrusting hips. It was a bit of a squeeze, but he managed to get his lips around Geralt's cock, moaning as Eskel's thrusts pushed it farther into his mouth.

All too soon—sooner than Barnabas-Basil had ever seen—Geralt shuddered through a shaking climax. Eskel's fingers did not stop, if anything, they got more insistent, a fourth joining them. Thighs quaking, Geralt balled his hands into the sheets, trying to hold himself steady, but a thin whine escaped his lips. “Eskel, please...”

“B.B,” Lambert said, popping off Geralt's cock and wiping his mouth with an indecent slurp. There were still a few drops of come clinging to his lips. “Can I get a cold cloth for Geralt? He has a long night ahead of him.”

Barnabas-Basil stepped forward and handed Lambert the cloth he had readied, then watched the Witcher gently wipe Geralt's brow and down his cheeks, voice almost cooing. “There we go, pretty boy, gonna have fun tonight.”

And fun they did have. Geralt still shaking a little, Eskel withdrew his fingers and pressed the head of his fat cock to his already twitching rim, sliding in so slow, Geralt was gasping and begging before he was even half way in. Lambert lounged next to them, alternating between lightly stroking his cock, drinking the wine Barnabas-Basil offered, and tenderly stroking Geralt's hair, his back, whatever seemed to soothe him the most at the moment as Eskel pounded away.

Barnabas-Basil was ready with more cool, wet towels, wiping all three down as needed. Geralt's glazed eyes tried to focus, but then Eskel gave a particularly strong thrust and he was nothing but moans again. Eskel must have peaked two, three times? Barnabas-Basil lost count, all he knew was the mess between Geralt's legs—oil and come staining the sheets—was growing, Eskel's spend slowly leaking out of him every time the other Witcher drew back for a sip of his wine.

Yellow eyes flashed to him. “Let us know when you want a turn, B.B, we're more than happy to share.”

“I am fine for the moment, Eskel,” he said, swiping the sweaty hair out of Geralt's face. He wanted to lean down and snatch a kiss, so he did, sucking that juicy bottom lip between his for one long moment.

“Fuck,” Eskel whispered and came again. Finally spent for the night, he pulled out, but before he could collapse onto the bed, he helped guide Geralt on to his back, laying him in his own pool of come, but none of them seemed to mind. They were covered in each other's sweat and sex, their smells mingling together; the scent was almost too much for Barnabas-Basil's nose, what must it be to a Witcher? Eskel leaned down and dragged his nose up Geralt's sweaty neck before retreating. “Lambert, your turn.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Lambert climbed between Geralt's spread legs, hands rubbing up and down his thighs. “Sloppy seconds, as usual.” But there was a fondness to his words as he leaned down and snatched a kiss, before letting his lips travel lower, and lower, skating over Geralt's neck, then his nipples, nibbling at his navel, until finally Lambert settled at his cock.

They didn't limit or try to control Geralt's orgasms, letting him come whenever the pleasure became too much and pushed him over, so he was covered with Eskel's spend and his own, both of which Lambert happily licked away before sitting back and arranging Geralt's heavy thighs around his hips. Young and a little hot tempered, Lambert didn't have the patience to push in as slow as Eskel had, sliding in and bottoming out in a matter of seconds. They both gasped and Barnabas-Basil's cock twitched in sympathy, oh, to be buried in that ass, already so wet and filled with seed and slick.

Lambert threw his head back and rolled his hips, thrusting gently at first. “Fuck, Geralt, how are you so perfect? Even filled with Eskel's come... Fuck, _especially_ filled with Eskel's come.”

Eskel took over the comfort role, laying his head on Geralt's chest and reaching out for another glass of wine. He dripped the sweet white onto Geralt's lips before licking it away. “Oh my...” Barnabas-Basil's heart lurched. He'd never thought of that, drinking from Geralt's lips, why, it must be heavenly, the mix of the sweet desert wine on those lips already salty with a mix of the night's meal and tears of ecstasy slowly rolling down his face.

After he'd had his fill of Geralt's lips, Eskel licked the tears away, pressing their foreheads together. “He's beautiful, isn't he?” Eskel whispered. “Tell us if it's too much, alright? We missed you, we want all we can have from you.”

Blinking slow, already exhausted from their love making, Geralt whispered, “Take it, take whatever you need...” A low growl built in Eskel's chest and he set the wine glass aside before going in for another hungry kiss, biting and snarling softly.

Between Geralt's legs, Lambert continued thrusting, one hand wrapped around his cock, stroking in time with the movements. “You're so fucking beautiful. Let us into your house, your hole, all of it... fuck, Geralt, you're fucking perfect like this. Can't wait to spend all winter worshiping your ass.”

“Mmm, yes,” Eskel hummed. “We're your worshipers, B.B your attendant. He'll keep your alter clean for us, so we can come back and pay homage again and again...”

His name included in the litany of _soft_ dirty chatter made Barnabas-Basil's face heat up again. He set his tray aside and walked over to the other side of the bed, three sets of luminous eyes watching him. Extending a hand, he smoothed through Geralt's hair, not giving a single though to the sweat he found there. “Yes, Geralt, I will tend your alter with the gentlest of hands.”

Geralt's eyes went wide, Lambert shifted, hitting _that_ spot inside him, and he came, voice almost too tired to shout through it. Lambert took a moment's break for a fresh glass of wine, then he was back to it, filling Geralt with yet more seed as the loads already inside him dripped out. It was glorious to watch and Barnabas-Basil couldn't help but lick his lips, knowing his satisfaction was close at hand...

Time slowed to a crawl, he lost count of how many times Geralt had been fucked, how much spend decorated his skin. Some time after Lambert's second peak, Eskel's cock firmed up again. He knelt next to Geralt's sidem jerking himself quickly and efficiently, until he came again, spreading the mess across Geralt's chest. The room was thick with the smell of fucking and Barnabas-Basil was weak for it. His knees quaked every time Lambert grunted, slamming his hips flush with Geralt's ass. He had a task ahead of him, that was for certain.

Finally, Lambert slumped back, his cock slipping from Geralt's soft, used hole. He fell back onto the bed with a great sigh. “Fuck, that was amazing.” Another few breaths and he seemed to have himself under control, eyes finding Barnabas-Basil. “Alright, B.B, what do we do now?”

Finally, his time had come. Legs suddenly rock solid, Barnabas-Basil stepped closer to the bed—he pulled back to watch, take in the whole view—and carded his fingers through Geralt's hair, the other hand dipping down to lightly caress the bulge at Geralt's lower stomach. So much seed inside him, on him, everywhere, he never though... Barnabas-Basil was a man of class and decorum, but Geralt and his brothers in arms brought out all the animal instincts in him he thought the court stamped out. Seeing the strong Witcher wrecked and utterly debauched, literally bulging with come, Barnabas-Basil couldn't help but lick his lips.

“Eskel, take Geralt into that chair over there, I need to change the sheets. Lambert, fill the tub. He's going to need a bath.”

Working like the efficient professionals they were, Eskel pulled Geralt into his arms and sat them both in the comfy arm chair in the corner of the room, resting that white head on his chest. Geralt barely moved, too exhausted, but the come inside him still trickled out onto Eskel's leg, making him purr as he nosed through hair the color of moonlight.

Barnabas-Basil turned his attention back to the soiled sheets (these he'd wash himself, he didn't want to laundresses to jump to any conclusions... no matter how correct) he couldn't be distracted by the soft affection between the Wolves. In a few days time, when Geralt was rested and back to his usual self, they'd take Lambert apart in the same manner, then Eskel... He had all winter to look his fill, but this first night had to be perfect, not a thing out of place.

Lambert carried two buckets at once, quickly filling the bath, then kneeling in front of the chair, kissing Geralt softly. “Mmm, thank you, pretty boy, you know how to start a winter off right.”

“We're not done yet,” Geralt whispered, his voice a little stronger. “B.B needs a turn.”

He didn't need to look up to know all eyes were on him. Keeping his hands steady, Barnabas-Basil finished making the bed, ensuring them all a clean spot to rest after such an athletic night. With the bed made, his stood up. Lambert pressed one last kiss to Geralt's side before returning to the bath, heating the water with a shot of Igni. Steam gently rose from the surface and Barnabas-Basil smiled. “Alright, in he goes.”

“I can walk.” Geralt stumbled to his feet, but made it to the bath, hissing as he sank in, the hot water easing any pleasant aches. As soon as he was submerged, he went boneless, head resting on the rim of the tub.

Barnabas-Basil let him relax for a moment before swinging into action. “Lean forward, must rinse that lovely hair of yours.”

Geralt let himself be ordered around, Barnabas-Basil knew what he was doing, they'd done it dozens of times before, and there was a comfort in sitting back, allowing someone else to make the decisions. To take care of him. It wasn't something Geralt got a lot, not outside of winter, well... not until Barnabas-Basil came into his life.

Selecting one of the milder soaps that didn't irritate Witcher noses, Barnabas-Basil scrubbed the sweat from Geralt's skin. He almost frowned as the come on his belly flaked away, but he knew there would be more there tomorrow, and the next night, and the next night, for the rest of winter. Yes, Geralt had many more chances to get filthy, then have Barnabas-Basil scrub him clean again.

With his hair washed, Geralt slumped back in the tub, eyes falling closed. Barnabas-Basil let him relax, tending to his arms and legs, chest and back the way he would for any other bath. When there was just one area remaining, his heart sped up. “Geralt? I need you to get up on your knees.”

Tired and slow, the water almost sloshed over the sides of the tub as Geralt got into position, kneeling, presenting his ass once again, as he rested his arms on the lip of the tub, his head falling on top of them. “Need a good wash. Know you'll treat me right, B.B, especially after these two ruined me.”

“You loved it,” Lambert purred, falling into the bed, Eskel following right after him. They lay back and watched the show, the part they'd been waiting for.

Barnabas-Basil arranged Geralt so his ass was pointed towards the bed, red, puffy hole on full display. A little of the come still inside him had washed away already, but Barnabas-Basil had first hand experience of the prodigious amount of spend one Witcher could produce, let alone two. With a clean, soapy cloth, he reached between Geralt's legs and gently scrubbed his cock, wiping away the last traces of his orgasms.

As he leaned forward, he pressed a kiss to the bottom of Geralt's tailbone, right above the crack of his ass. Geralt shivered, pressing his head into his arms harder. “Fuck, B.B...”

“Let me know if it is too much,” he whispered, and kept going. As his hand moved, so did his lips, licking over one glorious cheek, then the other, adding to the worship Eskel and Lambert had visited on Geralt's body earlier.

Once his cock was clean and fresh, all spend, oil, and sweat washed away, Barnabas-Basil steadied himself before tending to the area he most wanted to touch. Spreading Geralt's cheeks with steady hands, he leaned forward and blew a cool breath across his hole, watching it wink shut, more spend leaking out. “I'm afraid this needs a thorough cleaning,” he said, voice steady.

Two matching purrs floated over from the bed, Eskel holding tight to Lambert to keep the young wolf from pouncing on Geralt again. “He needs someone to make him nice and clean,” Lambert said.

“It is a duty I look forward to performing.” He dropped the cleaning cloth onto the edge of the bath for the moment, reaching forward and gently probing Geralt's asshole. It clenched again before relaxing, tired after all the work it did today. “Yes, Geralt, you're doing so well for me. Just relax, let it all go.”

“Uh, fuck.” Geralt shivered and his muscles released, sending a gush of come down his legs where Barnabas-Basil was ready to wipe it away. He was almost too weak to push it all out, so gentle fingers opened him up again, making sure every drop got cleaned away, leaving nothing but healthy pink skin.

Barnabas-Basil's eyes went wide as it just kept coming, dirtying the already filthy water. Geralt shook with his own filthiness, moaning softly until Barnabas-Basil placed a soothing hand on his back. “You're doing so well.”

Geralt took two fingers with ease after the night he'd had, allowing Barnabas-Basil to clean him inside and out. His cock lingered just under the line of bathwater, hard again somehow. Long fingers wrapped around it and Geralt let out a shivering moan as Barnabas-Basil stroked him to another climax. He almost collapsed, but the rim of the tub kept him up and Geralt let Barnabas-Basil clean him again.

“There,” Barnabas-Basil whispered. “You're all fresh now. Perfect. Do you need help standing?”

Before Geralt could answer, Lambert and Eskel were there, pulling him from the bath, holding him steady for Barnabas-Basil to towel him dry. They'd need a scrub too, but the water was too dirty to help. After Geralt was settled, they'd get around to filling their own bath and clean themselves as they watched Barnabas-Basil finally take his pleasure.

Laying Geralt on the bed, Barnabas-Basil sat back, one finger tracing his bottom lip. “Do you have the strength left for me? Or should I take my leave for the night?”

With a smirk, Geralt pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and crawled down the bed, collapsing across Barnabas-Basil's legs. His mouth found his prick with ease, but he frowned to find it still tied away in his breeches. Though exhausted, experienced hands made quick work and soon Barnabas-Basil was as naked as any of them, Geralt's lips closing over the head of his cock. He tried not to thrust up, clawing at the bed sheets instead as Geralt's head started to bob, taking him deeper and deeper.

“Mmm, beautiful.” The sudden voice distracted him long enough to regain some of his control, and he found Lambert and Eskel standing next to the now clean bath. Eskel smirked and prodded Lambert into the tub. “I know you were supposed to scrub us too, B.B, but I think we can handle it. You enjoy.”

“Yeah, got all winter to get some of your care.” The tub wasn't big enough for both of them to lounge back, so they stood, familiar hands washing each other, their eyes straying to the bed every once in a while to sigh happily as they watched Geralt swallow down Barnabas-Basil's cock. Otherwise, Lambert and Eskel were quickly lost in their own world, hands gripping one another, soft kisses pressed between soapy swipes.

With the others seen to, Barnabas-Basil had no choice but to enjoy Geralt's attentions. And enjoy he did. Threading his fingers through white hair, he looked to hold on, not to guide. All night watching, his desire building with every kiss, touch, every climax the others pulled from Geralt, Barnabas-Basil was on a hair trigger, and when he heard Geralt take a deep breath, then his nose brushed against his pubic hair, Barnabas-Basil could no longer hold back. Coming hard, his vision went white for a long moment.

When he came back to himself, he found Geralt's face pressed into his crotch, breathing him in, eyes heavy. “Come here.” He pulled Geralt back up the bed and settled them together so they could watch Lambert and Eskel finish their bath.

Soon, they were all lumped together in the bed, far cleaner than how they'd started the night, already feeling the first bit of soreness. “Good first night,” Lambert mumbled, his lips squished against Eskel's marvelous tits, licking lightly at a nipple before closing his eyes. Though they'd been here for weeks, Geralt explained that they celebrate their first official night of winter once all the chores were complete. They didn't have a castle to repair, so finishing their training area was their marker, now it was truly time to settle in for the season.

Squished between three Witchers, Barnabas-Basil already felt the warmth of their bodies getting to him. In a moment, he'd get up and open a window for some cool air, but not just yet. He wanted to enjoy this, this indulgence that not only was he allowed to have, but they requested his presence. Lambert and Eskel seemed to want him here as much as they wanted Geralt. His heart swelled at the thought. To spend a season serving these fine men, well, it didn't get much better than that, now did it?

**Author's Note:**

> While I usually write Game Geralt with Show Jaskier, the Jaskier in this is kind of a mash up of show and game. I thought it was too funny that, since he's not allowed in Toussaint, Dandelion would just use his other "northern" pen-name as cover.


End file.
